Thursday, January 24, 2013

If you visit Scotland, you ought to try haggis. I admit the recipe sounds pretty disgusting. Perhaps you shouldn’t know what goes in it...or maybe you should. Miriam-Webster defines the concoction as a traditional Scottish dish consisting of the heart, liver, and lungs of a sheep or a calf minced with suet, onions, oatmeal, and seasonings and boiled in the sheep's stomach. Yuck, I thought.

However, once I arrived in Scotland, I embraced my usual ‘when in Rome’ philosophy. Okay, I’ll try it. After one bite I declared, "Surprise, surprise," like Gomer Pyle on television. I devoured the rich beefy delight.

Gleneagles Golf Resort

My love affair with haggis began at Gleneagles, one of the finest golf resorts in the world. The chef out did himself preparing my group's gala meal. However, it was my dinner in Edinburgh, Scotland's capital city, where I witnessed royal pageantry.

As I approached the five-star Balmoral Hotel, melancholy sounds of a lone bagpiper pierced the night air. The tall piper, Iain Grant, wore the traditional regimental attire of the Scottish Highland Pipers: a red tartan kilt and fabulous plumed hat of black feathers. Iain is the epitome of a Scotsman and happily reappeared during the presentation of the culinary treat.

At a true Scots party haggis is not eaten until addressing it. The ceremony begins the meal and is usually performed with dramatic flair. At the Balmoral, the costumed bagpiper marched in followed by the chef carrying a decorative platter featuring the haggis. The two strode round the dining room as the seated guests raised a glass of Scotch whiskey. “Sláinte (slahn-chə),” we said, the equivalent of “cheers” and means to your health.

Then, in thick Scottish brogue Iain recited the Address to a Haggis, written by Robert Burns in 1786. During the reading, he spanked the delicacy, wielded his knife and stuck it into the dish. (See video) He teased the audience as only a bawdy man clad in a skirt could. We laughed and eagerly awaited a taste.

Place Settings in the Balmoral Hotel

Finally, plates of haggis appeared towered by "neeps and tatties”- mashed turnips and potatoes to be eaten along with “nips," of whiskey. Bravo. While my host referred to drinking a wee dram, I believe I consumed more than that.

In my opinion, the national dish tasted similar to Cajun boudin without rice, a regional food I once tried in Louisiana. The topping of mashed potatoes blended sensationally, like meatloaf with taters -- a perfect accompaniment. The smooth and beefy dark gravy tingled the tongue with an all over mellow and warm taste, of course, aided by another sip of the whisky.

I so enjoyed the haggis; I decided to celebrate Robbie BurnsDay on January 25th, the traditional date recognizing the national poet. However, haggis is very difficult to come by in the US due to USDA standards. I eventually ordered two cans through Amazon.com.

Haggis again!

My Burns Supper menu will feature the customary fare: Cock-a-Leekie Soup, a chicken soup, haggis with a small steak, and clootie, a steamed pudding for desert. Here’s to Robbie Burns and his affinity for words, women, and haggis! Sláinte to all.

The Translation

Fair is your honest happy face
Great chieftain of the pudding race
Above them all you take your place
Stomach, tripe or guts
Well are you worthy of a grace
As long as my arm

The groaning platter there you fill
Your buttocks like a distant hill
Your skewer would help to repair a mill In time of need
While through your pores the juices emerge
Like amber beads

His knife having seen hard labour wipes
And cuts you up with great skill
Digging into your gushing insides bright
Like any ditch
And then oh what a glorious sight
Warm steaming, rich

Then spoon for spoon
They stretch and strive
Devil take the last man, on they drive
Until all their well swollen bellies
Are bent like drums

Then, the old gent most likely to rift (burp)
Be thanked, mumbles Is there that over his French Ragout
Or olio that would sicken a pig
Or fricassee would make her vomit
With perfect disgust
Looks down with a sneering scornful opinion

On such a dinner
Poor devil, see him over his trash
As week as a withered rush (reed)
His spindle-shank a good whiplash
His clenched fist.the size of a nut.
Through a bloody flood and battle field to dash
Oh how unfit

But take note of the strong haggis fed Scot
The trembling earth resounds his tread
Clasped in his large fist a blade
He'll make it whistle
And legs and arms and heads he will cut off
Like the tops of thistles

You powers who make mankind your care
And dish them out their meals
Old Scotland wants no watery food
That splashes in dishes
But if you wish her grateful prayer
Give her a haggis!

Member of International Food,Wine & Travel Writers Association

Debi in Florence Cooking School

About Me

Bylandersea-Food Tales features culinary articles, restaurant, product and cookbook reviews as well as recipes from my world-wide journeys. I also include bite size nuggets about what’s happening in my own kitchen. I honestly present my likes and dislikes, successes and failures. I'm a member of the International Food, Wine and Travel Writers Association and Society of American Travel Writers. My website, www.bylandersea.com, contains articles about my global adventures and a link to my travel journal:The Luggage Diaries.